A Different Perspective
by Bard15
Summary: A study in second person POV to shake things up a bit. When a vengeful spirit suddenly begins wreaking havoc in an area that has been quietly settled for over a hundred years, the boys show up to investigate and get more help than they wanted. **CHPS 1-3 edited and reposted.**
1. Chapter 1

**A Different Perspective**

Bard 15

a/n: I have no idea where this is heading...just wanted to play around with POV and see something from an outsider's perspective...not everyone the boys meet up with should become cannon fodder...

**/././supernatural/././**

To say you dabble in the occult is an overstatement of the facts...you have little working knowledge of spell craft...and a smattering of factual knowledge across the expansive breadth of the subject: as the saying goes—' you know a little about a lot of things'—just enough to make you dangerous. And really, in this day and age, who "studies and memorizes" anything, when so much knowledge is so readily available at our finger tips.

You know the occult is real...or rather as real as anything can be, in a humans limited 3 dimensional perspective—you've experienced it first hand: you've seen the cards accurately foreshadow future choice and events, you've witnessed spirits make contact through the board and in other ways that make ones hair stand on end and goose bumps to crawl down your arms: and more importantly, you have sensed the spirits...though, no more than echoes, really, in the several purported haunted houses your mismatched cabal had investigated over the years.

So, to say you believe in the "supernatural" is not without merit...but to believe the multitudinous stories of every "Tom, Dick and Harry (or Sally) –not so much. Despite the belief, all "stories, eye witness accounts and family legends" are taken at face values—neither believed nor disbelieved without proof.

It is seen as just a small part of a whole of the philosophy you have honed over the years...a spirituality you quietly try to live by...that deity cannot be fathomed, that the next journey is to be forever steeped in shadow and mystery...that each choice, for good or ill, sets in motion the next path we will each follow: that "karma" is a bitch sometimes, so you try to keep your nose clean as it were...and should you forget, the universe will gladly remind you of your insignificance in its grander design. (And has done so on multiple occasions).

Despite your indulgence of the sixth dimension, your life if rather dreary and mundane...surrounded, as you are, by the sterile trappings of the new millennium: there is little of the fanciful when lore was the norm and "science" was steeped in mistrust and mystery.

So it was without intention that your ears found a hushed conversation in the booth behind you that piqued your curiosity without effort. At first your roll your eyes, at the back and forth talk of ghosts and vengeful spirits—it is close to Samhain...when everyone suddenly has a mind to be a ghost hunter: but there is something about the deep earnestness of the conversation that gives you cause to pause.

You catch a few names, for some reason a few of them seem familiar, and idly scratch them out on a spare napkin...intent on satisfying your curiosity later. You also are surprised to hear the muffled voices talk of the recent crimes that have plagued the small community that's nestled in the valleys on the outskirts of the city...the strange incidents of property damage and injuries, one location grabbing your full attenion as they also bring up the strange death that occurred just a few days ago. The scene etched in your memory forever.

The cops are stymied and the rumors run rampant...from the criminal to the conspiracy to the downright bizarre...

So, is it idle conversation of the curious and morbid...journalists looking for a period piece for the holidays...wannabe's that have watched one to many CSI or ghost hunters episodes...but yet there is something about their tone—their interest, that belies those thoughts. Those hushed voices speak with an underlying knowledge, of a comfortable-ness to the bizarre and unfathomable: and that somehow their involvement will prove to be both welcome and needed.

Without much conscious thought you begin to plan right along with them...your mind pulling up, sorting and discarding ideas as quickly as they are; their next stop on the investigative trail soon becomes obvious and you decide, consequences not even considered or weighed, that you are going to "follow the case"—as it were.

You gather the files you were going through from work as you ate lunch, then slide from the booth to quickly make your way to the register, stealing surreptitious glances towards the two young men that still sit in quiet conversation, in the booth that was behind you.

As you slide into your car, you can't help but glance through the window to see them still huddled in conversation, oblivious of anything but their exchange.

Should anyone have taken an interest in the interplay, more subtle than a whisper, of stranger's in the back to back booths, they would have seen the eyes of first the dark haired young man, followed moments later the blonde, look up and eye you with guarded curiosity as you pulled from the small diners parking lot.

**/././ supernatural/././**

You've been at the archives for more than forty minutes before the two young men enter. You were beginning to think you had been mistaken in your estimates of their interest and were nearly ready to grudgingly give up your own pursuit of something other than the stifling mundaneness that had become your existence when they entered.

Long since having found the information and carefully taken notes that were now tucked into a small planner in your bag you move off to the alcove that houses the many variations of maps that have grown and changed with the expanding area...the strangers are plainly visible though far from earshot.

Though you arrived well before they did you do not want to underestimate your new found quarry; so as not to arouse there suspicion, after all you've watched your fair share of procedural cop show yourself, you move off to the gift shop as it offers you a view of the entrance to the archives; so you can see when the two young men leave.

The clerk eyes you suspiciously, as you have done nothing but wander around idly for the past thirty minutes; and just when you think it might be a good idea to leave the gift shop lest the clerk call the police you spy the two men exiting the archive.

You grab a candy bar and rush to the register, using the guise of paying for the candy to continue to watch the two as they slowly exit the building.

Exiting the building moments after the two men, you are frustrated to not see them on the sidewalk that leads to the parking lot, or on the walk that leads in the other direction towards the street.

You shake your head and give a snort of disbelief...what the hell were you thinking anyway...what did you really hope to accomplish in this sudden folly: following two absolute strangers for god's sake...they could be serial killers for all you really know.

You give the sidewalk one last sweep, before heading to your car. You have your own life, responsibilities...you can't go off pretending to be some superhero...you don't have your cabal for back up anymore...

And that's where you make a rookie mistake; so lost in your thoughts of self -depreciation that you fail to notice the two men that come up behind you as you unlock your car.

As the dark headed man lays a hand to your shoulder and whirls you around to face them, asking darkly, "...why are you following us?" all you can think is..."oh damn..."

**/././ supernatural/././**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Different Perspective**

/Chapter 2/

_The dark headed man lays a hand to your shoulder and whirls you around to face them, asking darkly, "...why are you following us?" all you can think is..."oh crap..."_

You stare into the faces of the two young men that you had, for all intent and purpose, been stalking all afternoon: hoping against hope that you can somehow make a bluff check, despite your heart trying to pound its way out of your chest.

Giving yourself a mental eye roll when all you manage to get out is a shaky, "excuse me?"

You're given a few seconds reprieve from coming up with a suitable "story", when the taller of the two, lays a hand on the dark haired one's arm, offering up one word -"Dean," that seems to convey a whole conversation in its tone when 'Dean' drops his hand from your shoulder and takes a step back.

Though you attempt to straighten up a bit, the two mens close proximity keeps you pressed against the car. Your mind is working furiously as you shuffle through numerous scenarios and explanations. Somehow you manage to hold it together and not piss your pants at getting caught red handed as it were, and wait for either man to make the next move.

One thing you do know, from all your years of playing a plethora of characters in a multitude of RPS's (and from the cop shows you watch)...to keep your lies straight you need to keep them simple—so no babbling whatever comes off the top of your head would be a good place to start; use the other persons assumptions to your advantage and play off them.

The taller one huffs out and says quietly, apparently in an attempt not to seem threatening, (no luck there), "We saw you at the diner...and now you're here..."

Your mind latches onto a thread of a plan as you think back to the diner and fast forward to now, you're rather proud of the idea; perhaps all that high school theatre and role playing is about to pay off. And every mindful that you're the player character and it's up to you to get yourself out of the mess you just got yourself into, you slide one hand to grab the door handle of your car as you make a show of pushing yourself away from the car a step.

You're even more surprised that your voice doesn't crack in fear when you finally decide to speak, "And...If memory serves, I was at the diner first."

The two men exchange looks, and if you're reading the expressions correctly the tall one seems to be saying, 'see...got you there': while the answering expression on the smaller man is a raised eyebrow and eyes that flit over to the archive building while his arms gesture widely to the surrounding area.

The dark headed man, Dean, you remember, fixes you with a cold stare as he asks, "and now?"

"And now...?" you feign innocence before frowning and playing up the 'scared female' (a feeling you are ashamed to admit isn't all acting), "...and now, you're here: maybe I should be concerned that you're following me."

Dean snorts and shakes his head, "Yeah right..."

You can't decide whether to be relived or offended that the idea that they are stalking you seems so far-fetched to the dark headed one; you may be just a few short years from the half century mark but you still easily pass for someone in their mid thirties. Deciding to take a bit of offense you blurt out in a tone that is slightly accusing, "So then why _**are**_ you here..."

"Why are you," Dean counters impatiently.

"It's a free country..." is all you can come up with and both men roll their eyes at your rather lame comeback.

You realize both sides are playing the same game...point—counter point, trying to throw the other side off its game and you wonder how long you can keep this up.

They exchange looks again that you can't even begin to interpret: what you do see is that _'Dean'_ doesn't seem thrilled with the outcome of the silent conversation as he rolls his eyes and throws out his arms in exasperation. For his part the taller one answers with sigh and an eye roll of his own before pulling out a piece of paper and handing it to you. You look at it like it will bite before hesitantly reaching out and taking it.

"What's this," you ask as you unfold the paper. It has the list of names you had looked up earlier...with the same information you had also written down: the one's you had overheard them talking about in the diner.

Your expression must clearly show your confusion when _'Dean'_ asks smugly, "Why the confused face sweetheart, it's not like you haven't seen those names before...seeing as how you looked them up before we got here."

The tumblers fall in place, as it were, the reason the boys have turned the tables on you: no doubt the archive clerk mentioned the fact that someone had just been looking up the same names before they got there.

You hand the paper back, saying simply, "the clerk,"; at the same time chiding yourself for rookie mistake number two—forgetting to account for bored employees. God, you're playing this like a first level character.

The tall one nods, "the clerk."

"So, what's _**your**_ interest," Dean asks pointedly.

"Passing curiosity," you reply vaguely, wondering if its a true inquiry or an attempt to catch you in a lie, remembering you told the clerk why you were looking up the names.

"Uh, huh," Dean counters skeptically, adding, "so, you just happen to suddenly get curious about something that happened over a week ago?"

You shrug, looking anywhere but at the two, "been busy..." then you suddenly decide, when all else fails go with a good version of the truth, "...besides, if there is some kind of psycho stalker skulking about I'd kinda like to know about it..."

You fix them both with a pointed look, realizing folly number three as you do so: your pointed look being as good as an accusation. Yeah, smart move that, accusing two absolute strangers, even indirectly and unintentionally, of being psycho killers, when trapped and alone _**with**_ two said strangers...ah, well, hindsight is 20/20 and you really hope you won't be this stupid in your next incarnation.

Surprisingly, _'Dean'_ holds up his hands in defense, "Hey, whoa...we just rolled into town...we didn't kill anyone..."

"Your from around that area...?" the tall one questions, looking towards Dean with raised eyebrows.

Dean apparently interprets the look and doesn't like what it means because he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily before grumbling, "fine."

You wave a hand between them, "You know, that's really annoying...right?"

"Did you know the victim...or any of the people that reported the property damage," the tall one asked.

You shake your head side to side and answer evasively, "...heard of a few of them..."

"Anything unusual about the area..." the tall one continues.

"Unusual how..." you counter.

"Legends, ghost stories, curse's..." Dean interjects.

Now it's you turn to snort, as you remember the topic of conversation you overheard at the diner, "I suppose there must be some...the area out that way was settled over a hundred years ago...all kinds of old homesteads and family cemetaries dotting the hills and valleys; some are so overgrown they've probably been forgotten. Why, you think 'the monster' did it?"

Instead of groaning at your poor play on words (the butler did it), they both exchange quick, wary looks with one and other.

"Ah, what- really," you groan, "...I think you've seen one too many episodes of ghost hunter's..."

"What, you don't believe in ghosts," Dean taunts.

"_Yeah, I do_...even encountered a few in my time..." you say forcefully, stopping mid-sentence when boys look at you in undisguised surprise, causing you to ask slowly, "_**what**_...you throw out something as 'left field' as it being a **'something'** that is behind the death and property damage, and when I agree with you, you go all _'what the hell'_ on me—what gives?"

They again exchange what you have now dubbed their 'vulcan mind meld' look that annoys the hell out of you, before the tall one says, "...we're just not used to people believing so readily in the possibility."

His pointed look boring into you, you turn to Dean and ask rather harshly, "What...you can believe in the supernatural and no one else can?"

"_**You've...**_encountered ghosts before," Dean asked skeptically.

"Yeah...well, I wouldn't call it a full on ghost, so to speak; more like the echoes," your reply, giving a dry chuckle you add, "...probably piss my pants to see a full on materialization. But we've caught a few in the board..."

"We...?" Dean questions, eyebrows raised in a clearly suspicious look.

"Friends of similar interest..." you reply.

The tall one offers you a gentle smile, while Dean just snorts causing your hackles to rise; you've had about all the attitude you can take from this one: and self-preservation be damned you're done with it, _"...and I suppose you have?"_

Looking you straight in the face, his face dark and serious, Dean answers without hesitation or mockery, "Yes-I have..."

You return his gaze steadily: and you believe him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Different Perspective**

/Chapter 3/

a/n: aarrggghhh...I can't believe it ! I think I'm doing something "different" then they go and do a second person/ala "Blair Witch" type-monster perspective episode! Really...!

**/Supernatural/**

_**Looking you straight in the face, his face dark and serious, Dean answers without hesitation or mockery, "Yes-I have..."**_

_**And you return his gaze: and you believe him...**_

Not knowing what else to say to that you ask simply, "Okay, so what are we gonna do about it?"

"What? We? Oh, no...no...no: there is no 'we',sweetheart... " Dean says adamantly, waving a hand between you and himself.

"Oh, so _you're_ **not** going to investigate this," you ask with sarcasm, "what's your interest anyway, you make a habit of just 'rolling into a town' and picking up on bizarre local news-really? Now I however, live here, so I kind of have vested interest in finding out what's going on."

"Just go home...we'll take care of this," Dean orders.

You snort and raise an eyebrow at his attitude, "Really? And who died and made you god?"

They exchange that look again and they both reach into their jacket pockets causing you to tense and briefly wonder what it feels like to get shot: but relax seconds later when all they pull out are wallets. They flip open the wallets almost simultaneously, you note with amusement, to show badges.

So relieved that what they pulled out was as innocuous as badges you roll your eyes and sigh with relief. They can't quite hide their surprise when you lean forward and squint at the badges, before looking at them and saying off-handedly, "yeah, and...?"

The situation might suddenly prove to be far more tense, the fact that this may be official, than if they had turned out to be some psycho's; as your tolerance for anything carrying a badge and presuming to have authority over you is nigh unto negligible (you use the excuse that you're sign is Leo, and they tend to think they are the center of the universe, to justify the sentiment): despite the fact that you actually have two friends who hold different ranks in the police department.

They both frown as they flip the wallets closed, "Look, ma'am we really don't want to run you in for interfering in an open case..."

"What were those badge numbers again," you ask, as you pull out your cell phone.

The boys exchange looks as you continue, "Oh, you're right, I definitely don't need those kinds of problems-could lose my job," you say waving your phone towards the badges, adding, "so I'll just call the police sergeant I know and if she tells me to back off then by all means..._**'officers**_'...I'll back off," you tap your cell against your chin thougtfully as you commet, "...though I don't recall our police department having an 'X-Files' unit-not exactly a hotbed for the paranormal."

You note, with well-disguised amusement, that they seem mildly taken back by your show of defiance, so you decide to press the advantage while you've got it, "and if by some chance she can't ID your badges as local then you're out of your jurisdiction..._officers_." You decide to maintain some semblance of self- preservation by not mentioning the fact that you suspect the badges to be dime store knock-offs.

You give your cell phone a little wave as you wait for them to get their badges back out so you can call in the numbers, but they instead exchange that look that espouses an entire conversation in mere seconds.

"That won't be necessary," the tall one finally says: and you wisely chose to keep your smirk and snarky comment, _'I didn't think so'_, to yourself.

You break the sudden uncomfortable silence by asking, "...so, really, what is your interest in all this?"

Dean looks at you curiously for a moment more before countering your question with one of his own, "...so you really believe in the supernatural...ghosts and monsters..."

You nod and purse your lips in thought, "Let us just say I don't disbelieve...I kinda live by the old Shakespeare adage...'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, dear Horatio...'"

Dean shoots the tall one a puzzled look and he responds with a quiet chuckle, "Hamlet, Dean..."

Dean just shrugs, arms crossed he presses, "so ghosts, spirits—you've 'experienced' them: what about werewolves and vampires...wendigo's...?"

He trails off when he sees your eyebrows crawl nearly up to your hairline, "getting a little carried away there aren't you, dude...spirits, yeah: monsters—not so much. You do realize that a majority of all purported 'monster' attacks are animals or goth, psycho wannabes..." And you've done enough "Whitewolf" LARPing to know what you're talking about-some of those nut jobs truly don't know where that line is.

Now it's Dean's turn to raise an eyebrow as he shoots back, "and for that minority?"

You decide to give him this one, "you got me there...and again, '...more things in heaven and earth...', but I'm gonna go with what I can verify then work out from there...not quite ready for that rubber room just yet."

The boys exchange another quick look, before Dean huffs out, "fair enough."

No one seems to know where to go from this point so after a moment, you ask, "so what now?"

"Now we find us a pissed off casper..." Dean states matter-of-factly; and despite yourself, you truly believe it.

**/././supernatural/././**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Different Perspective**

**Chapter 4**

You pull in your driveway and just sit there for a moment, taking in and releasing a deep breath as you think about the last several hours...

You're officially nuts...off your rocker...ready for a rubber room; no, not because you believed them when they said you were hunting a ghost, but because you had just made plans with absolute strangers to go hunt said ghosts.

You must have sat there longer than you thought when the front door opens and your husband is standing at the door looking out at you; you give another heavy sigh and climb from your car.

"Hey, you beat me home..." you say as way of greeting.

"Where you been, thought you had an early day today..." your husband asks casually.

"Yeah, got the meetings and the visits out of the way but you know the feds...the paperwork is the worst part of the job..." you lie easily.

He just nods and accepts the information absently, having heard the complaint many times in the past.

You spend a few minutes discussing your day, before heading upstairs to check on your teenage daughter.

She barely acknowledges you as she is simultaneously plugged into her I Pod and Skype'ing on her computer at the same time.

Coming upstairs behind you, your husband reminds you it's your week to pick your son up from college.

Soon, in that truly 'new millennium' family way, you are all in different rooms of the house, plugged into your electronics; and for once it doesn't bother you. You have some calls to make and you really don't need to be overheard. Again you shake your head at the absolute absurdity of the whole situation.

...

You're up and out of the house just like every other weekday, only this time you're not going to work: instead you're sitting in one of those little hole in the wall diners people usually frequent at 3am after a night of bar-hopping.

Why are you here? Why are you doing this? You shake your head, as you consider all that you've done in the last 24 hours that is so out of character for you...and you're seriously considering getting up and going home and calling it a sick day when they come through the door of the diner.

You don't acknowledge them as they come through the door, choosing to let them come to you; so you feign an absent stare out the window. Maybe it they just walk on by you can chalk this whole experience up to temporary insanity and move on.

No such luck, as they slide into the booth opposite you. You look at them with a simple greeting, "morning."

Sam nods and returns your greeting, before pulling a menu while Dean just looks at you intently, eyebrows raised appraisingly.

"What," you ask impatiently.

He just shakes his head, "nothing," and also begins perusing the menu.

You just shake your head, again silently asking yourself, 'why?'

After the boys order, you ask casually, "So what did you find out...anything?"

"There have been four victims so far...two young guys were hurt while out hunting, the owner of the nearby farm was hurt while out cutting firewood and the last...the guy that died, seemed to keel over from a massive heart attack while visiting the renovation site..." Sam reported.

'Okay...so far nothing that couldn't easily have been pulled from a news site...' you think with some relief, hoping your expression conveys the neutral appearance your aiming for.

"Anything tie them together...?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, "not that I can find...outside of being neighbors, nothing really ties them together except for being in the same area..." Sam answered.

"So, what about the area..._anything __**there**_...?" Dean asks, and there is something in his tone that sets off warning bells in your head, though when you glance at him his expression reveals nothing.

"The area where the accidents and death took place are are all within a mile and a half radius...on the biggest tract of land...about 400 acres; it has two registered family cemetery's—the Toomey's and the Spenser's, with about 22 graves between them; but since it dates back to the late 1800's there are most likely grave sites throughout the property," Sam reported, like a kid giving a book report, "I traced the land deeds for that 300 acres...there have only been three owners of that piece of land since the area was settled. Two of those were from the same family...and the owner now...well owners, there are five...have owned it for about eight years...and three of them are very distantly related to the original owners."

"Twenty-two graves plus...really-gotta narrow that down, Sammy. I don't get it...nothing creepy at all, for all these years, and now all of a sudden Casper goes all psycho killer...we need to know what suddenly set it off...?" Dean said.

Your eyes bounce back and forth between the two men as you listen to their back and forth recourse, it almost seems they forgot you were there. You can't help but be impressed at the amount of information they have managed to pull together in such a short amount of time...and not being a child of the computer age, also being a little creeped out by the amount of information they have been able to get in the short time span.

"Well, I found a renovation permit when I was tracing the property owners...tearing down the old homestead house; well, what's left of it anyway, " Sam said.

"So, someones digging up more than dirt..." Dean commented.

Sam sat back in the booth, turning slightly so as to eye us both, a thoughtful look on his face, "maybe...but if they disturbed a grave during the renovation that should have got the attention of the local authorities, " Sam's eyes briefly met mine as he added, "...but I haven't found anything..."

"Maybe, ol' Toomey...or someone in the family is just pissy that they're losin' the old homestead..." Dean replied with a shrug, arching an eyebrow he added pointedly, "what we need is to get a look around the place..."

As you listened to Sam read off the information from the computer, you contemplate the furtive looks and the undercurrent of 'knowing' in the tone of their conversation and wonder if the little 'report' wasn't specifically designed just for you—did they know of the connection? You've spent too much time around ornery, plotting children not to recognize the signs when something was up.

You give a sigh, and unconsciously chew on your bottom lip before coming to a decision. Since it was about solving the problem before anyone else was hurt, like say, your own children, it was time to fill the boys in, "okay, listen, I can probably get you some face time with the owners...more detailed history on the previous families..."

Dean raised a brow and said knowingly, "Really..."

You smirk and answer petulantly, "yes...really...but you already knew that...the clerk had to have mentioned that those names we looked up...that those people-distant relatives on my grandmothers side..."

"Yeah, ya' mighta' wanted to have mentioned that part when we were having that little Q & A last night..." Dean snarked.

"I would have mentioned that when it was relevant..." you shoot back with equal impatience.

"And would that have been before or after we ran into the Casper the blood thirsty ghost.." Dean snapped back.

"Do you want help with this case or not...I can make sure you don't get anywhere near that property..." you snap back angrily.

"Do you want anyone else to die...cause that's what gonna happen it we don't get to the bottom of this..." Dean growled, leaning forward in his seat and waving a finger in your face.

"That's enough..." Sam said quickly, waving a hand between you and Dean, "Dean, back off..." Sam snapped at his brother before turning to me, "look...I'm sure you are just as interested in stopping whatever is going on out there as we are..."

"Yeah, but I have a reason..." you shoot back, crossing your arms and falling back into the seat and eying the two younger men pointedly, "you...don't know your angle...you could prove just as dangerous as the ghost."

Quirking his head a little sideways to shoot a quick look to his brother, Dean smirked, "well, you got that part right..."

You return his smirk and reply with sarcasm, "Not exactly making a good case for me helping you get on the property..."

Sam looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion, "I know you told the clerk that you were doing genealogical research...but why exactly...what's your real interest in all of this...your last name isn't Toomey or Spencer?"

So their research had stopped at the basics; but there was no reason to delve further into the genealogy of the current owners at this point, "The owner of the property...is my father..."

**/Supernatural/**

a/n: so, for thefew people who occasionally give this story a read...it may seem like I don't like Dean, when in fact he is my fav. character. I guess its because I am as snarky as he is, a big sister myself and while I am not all that comfortable handling weapons...I am accustomed to being around them and they don't particularly frighten me. And really, Dean doesn't scare me...he's a snarky ass to the general populace, but you only see his hard, cold & dangerous hunter side when he's actually working (or Sam's threatened)...

...two, three chapters tops should finish off this story experiment...

...also Toomey is pronounced- _ "two-me" _& it is an actual family name that I have seen on tombstones throughout my fathers country property...


	5. Chapter 5

**A Different Perspective**

**Chapter 5**

Both boys look at you in surprise, before Dean finally asks, "_**your father**_...and you were going to share **that** piece of news..._**when**_?"

Giving him a smirk, you answer, "when_** I **_felt it was relevant..."

"Well by all means...do you have any other 'relevant' information you'd like to share with the class..." Dean snaps, his arms waving for emphasis.

"Drop the damn attitude and I might..." you reply angrily, adding, "I don't know what your interest is in all this...or why in then hell you think any of this is your business...but know this...you won't get two feet on that property without my help..."

Sam sighed wearily as his eyes travel back and forth between you and Dean before his gaze settled on his brother, "Dean...back off, alright."

Dean gives an angry huff and falls back in the seat, holding his hands in a 'whatever' gesture.

Nodding his head, Sam then turns to you, "look, we just want to help...we're not here to cause any problem..."

"Why...?" you question again.

"It's what we do..." Dean replies tiredly.

"What you do...?" you echo, asking, "what you do...like your job...?"

"Something like that..." Dean answers.

"Again...why...? Not exactly a big market for 'ghost busters'...," you press with some confusion, then sit back and eye them suspiciously, "you're not some scouts for any of those ridiculous "ghost hunter type" TV shows are you...my dad definitely won't have patience for that nonsense...?"

The boys trade quick, amused looks before Sam replies, "no...nothing like that...we just do it because...well, it's kinda a family thing..."

"A family of ghost busters...really..." you reply skeptically, and give a heavy sigh, "look, you're gonna have to do better than that..."

Dean meets your gaze and says, "you wouldn't believe us..."

You cock you head and fold your arms, "try me...you'd be surprised what I'll entertain as believable; for gods sakes, we're sitting here talking about ghosts like normal people would sit around and talk about the weather. So, I think we've pretty much hit the realm of 'the hell you say...!' for a thousand, Alex..."

Dean quirks his brow in obvious amusement, while Sam looks thoughtful, so you prod them along, "come on boys...you lost your chance to lie by telling me you were reporters, TV scouts or even relatives..."

They exchange that 'Vulcan Mind-Meld' look of theirs that conveys an entire conversation in seconds before Sam finally begins explaining, "okay...just remember...you asked."

You nod, "that I did..."

You note that Sam gives Dean a deferential look, so you settle your focus on Dean to fill you in on the "family business".

"Short story...our mom died real mysterious when Sam was a baby; our dad was crazy with grief and started grasping at straws and stumbled into this line of work...started researching and traveling the country investigating this stuff. Now we use what we know to help people out when we can..."

You look back and forth between the two boys for a moment, mulling Dean's overly simplified explanation and considering what he _'didn't say'; _and you can't help but be reminded of the movie- "Frailty", about a man who 'see's peoples sins and dispenses his own brand of justice.

"And just how do you _'help'_ people with these _problems_..." you finally inquire.

Dean shrugs and shoots a quick look towards his brother, "depends on what the problem turns out to be."

You quirk a brow at the non-answer and press, "well, seems you're of the opinion that the 'problem' at the cabin is a ghost..."

Dean looks to Sam, who give s a thoughtful look before speaking, "we think it might be a vengeful spirit...somehow disturbed because of the renovations on the property..."

"Okay, following you so far...plausible theory...there are a lot of graves, both marked and unmarked throughout the property..." you agree, pinning the boys with a look you again ask, "so...vengeful spirit...how do we take care of the problem before it goes all 'Freddy Kruger' on anyone else...?"

"Need to find out who it is and what pissed it off..." Dean interjected.

You nod, and continue to press, "...and then...?"

Sam shrugs his shoulders and exchanges a quick look with his brother, "ritual maybe...banishing spell...there are a couple a ways..."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not hearing all of them...?" you ask skeptically.

"Can't give you specifics 'til we know what we're dealing with..." Dean counters.

You give a small nod to concede the point, "fair enough..."

Sam then fixes you with a pointed look and asks, "so...what now...?"

"I'll take you out to the property...you can get a look at the renovations and get a look at the names on the tombstones in the cemeteries..and I know where there are a few unmarked burial sites on the property...I have an aunt who has already done extensive genealogy so she can fill in some of the blanks for us..." you explain.

"And your dad...?" Dean asks.

"Not so up on the genealogy of that distant branch of the family—its on my mom's side anyway...her mother and grandmother's family line...so I can pass you off as relatives who just want to visit and do research..." you reply.

"He'll buy that?" Sam asks skeptically.

"I got so much family around here that I don't know..." you comment, "hell, I went to high school with two kids for nearly three years before I found out we were related when we all showed up at a reunion..."

"Okay...long lost cousins it is..." Dean agrees.

**/Supernatural/**

a/n: so, time to start the investigation!


End file.
